Blue and Bullish

The sounds of carefree people enjoying themselves was all around, but Ali could barely hear it. All that got through to him were muffled whomps, right out a cartoon from his childhood; that and the sound of his own footfalls. He passively wondered how many months or years of work the people around him had put in to gain this reprieve. He’d been to this paradoxical city before; with its old buildings but glowing ambiance. A wave of warm memories flooded Ali’s mind and for the briefest moment the whomps turned into words. He heard laughter and chatter, and for the first time that day he looked up and took in his surroundings. Then just as quickly as the uplift had come it was gone, and he was nearly pulled over backwards by the weight of the jar in his backpack.

Ali subconsciously pulled the backpack in tighter and continued trudging along as he had been all day. He watched as the cobblestones whooshed past his feet only aware enough of his surrounding as to avoid bumping into people. What broke his stupor was completely unexpected, it was a sound he hadn’t heard in a lifetime but that he knew well; the sobbing of a young child. Quicker than reason his legs moved, but when he arrived at the source of the sound, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The little girl couldn’t have been more than five years old, with short dirty blonde hair. Tears and mucus adhered matted clumps of it to her face. She wore a baggy sweater dress with a smiling cartoon bull in the center, and on her feet, yellow crocs. The getup was completely contradictory to the state she was in now and Ali couldn’t help but wonder how she’d wound up there, under a small gazebo overlooking the ocean.

Ali stood at a distance fully on guard, his backpack pulled in tighter, and watched as people walked past the child, occasionally throwing awkward but sympathetic glances her way. He watched for a few minutes and in that time, no one stopped to talk the girl. He wasn’t any better, after all he had stood there and watched. He hated it, he didn’t understand it, so he walked forward to help her. But as stood there looking down at her, his body froze. His mind filled with a dark fog and he was violently thrown back into the past.

When the fog cleared Ali no longer heard the little girl’s cries but rather the ominous wailing of a landline. He heard a woman screaming on the other end. He heard sirens tearing through the air as he jumped out of his car. He felt intense pressure as he forced his way past grown men in uniform. He collapsed breathless as he saw the small body covered by a white sheet. His eyes burned; his thoughts churned like his head had been filled with a tempest. An orange and green and red water gun lied a few feet away. A brunette green-eyed woman stood off to the side, her young daughter in her arms, holding on to another water gun, an orange and green one.

Ali forced the rest of the memories away, his heart hurt too much. He recomposed himself and slowly backed away from the hiccupping child. He turned away from her and continued on his way, he wanted nothing to do with the situation. Before he could get far however he felt a small wet hand wrap around his pinky. He froze again, he felt more memories trying to breach the wall he’d built around his mind but he remained guarded. He was conflicted. On one hand the child who’d clung to him needed help but on the other hand she was an avatar for everything he hated in life. He considered yanking his hand away and taking off but instead he kept walking towing the girl along with him.

Ali remembered his past life as he went, he remembered Muta. The last time he’d been to this city his son had been younger than the girl accompanying him now, and he too held on to his pinky as they walked the streets. When not walking on his own, the little boy would sit on Ali’s. shoulders. He remembered standing in a crowd as a group of ‘pointy cows’ and a mob of people traversed the streets. Muta laughed as he identified the animals. He remembered watching cartoons and eating overly sugared cereal with the bubbly boy. Ali’s mental barricades had ruptured and he no longer had the strength to repair them. Instead, he let the tears fall down his face and let the past wash over him.

Suddenly the little girl pulled away from him and reflexively Ali reached his hand out to try and catch her, but stopped short when he saw a blonde woman no too much taller than the child running towards her. He didn’t wait or say anything, Ali just turned around and walked away. He didn’t feel any better for helping the girl. He didn’t feel anything but the weight on his back. Just as before, before he could get far, he was stopped. This time he felt someone tugging at his shirt. He looked down to see the little green-eyed blonde girl with a dirty fist full of fabric in one hand and a blue flower in the other. He hadn’t noticed her eyes before because of the crying. He hesitated, unsure of if he wanted to take anything from her.

Seeing her smiling face Ali realized that this child hadn’t taken anything from him; she wasn’t the source of his pain. There was no reason to hate her, so he accepted the flower and watched as she raced back to her mother who, bouquet in hand, offered him a timid smile as they both walked away.

***

Ali knelt over the hole he’d dug in his garden, a clump of blue flowers off to his right and an open backpack with a jar to his left. He pulled the jar out and paused as he opened it. He closed his eyes in prayer and reflected on what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath, he emptied the contents of the jar into the cavity and placed the flowers on top. He patted everything into place and watered the young plants. As he stood, Ali offered the flowers, his Mutas, his thanks for a second chance at parenthood.